“I do not suppose he will be home till late. Just then—I was nervous. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. "I will set about it instantly. ‘All right, Trodger. ‘Alcide’ or no ‘Alcide,’ there is not a music hall manager in London or Paris who would not give you an engagement on your own merits. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock.
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